


Sinking

by dragonnan



Category: Psych
Genre: Closed-in Space, Extremely Mild Shules, Gen, Grudgingly Heroic Lassiter, Mild Lassie Whump, Shawn Whump, Shawn and Lassie in Jeporady, Short, like blink and you'll miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn Henry Spencer. The idiot should have dropped the paternal middle years ago and gone with "Mayhem" instead.  If Lassiter lived through this he damn well was going to insist their consultant wear a leash.  Or maybe they could just handcuff him to his own father; cause Lassiter did not remember signing up as the man-child's caretaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinking

“My shoes are wet.”

 

“Spencer, shut up.”

 

“Dude, these are eighty dollar limited edition Vans! There were only like, fifty of these minted before they broke the mold!”

 

“I swear to God...”

 

“You know, I've learned recently that swearing to God is a sin. Why doesn't anyone swear to the devil? I mean, he's the one that causes all the trouble isn't he?”

 

If he could just free his hands; just manage to initiate the adrenaline boost that would allow him to break the rope tied around his wrists, he could strangle Spencer, escape from the hold of the gun runner's slowly sinking vessel that smelled strongly of cannabis, and radio the Coast Guard to pick him up. If he was in a generous frame of mind by then he may even request they drag the water for Spencer's body rather than allow the fish to enjoy the free lunch. Generous, at this particular moment, however, might be a stretch. Two hours since he'd been escorted down here to join the consultant and his mood, and patience, hadn't exactly improved.

 

Speaking of Spencer; “speaking” being the notable verb...

 

“I can't _believe_ you didn't call for back up!”

 

Lassiter spun from his study of the locked hatch. “Excuse me? I'm not the idiot that decided to go snooping around the docks all by himself! And, for your information, I _did_ call backup! However, considering you were about to be shot, waiting wasn't an option!”

 

Stumbling a bit on the gradually sloping deck, Spencer shuffled through the ankle deep water to stand closer to the detective. Lassiter leaned back, his mouth pulling down uncomfortably. “What?”

 

Smiling, Shawn batted his eyes. “I knew you loved me, you big fluffy Carly Bear!”

 

Lassiter rolled his eyes before shoving past. “I may have both hands behind my back, but don't think for one second I'm incapable of killing you.”

 

The cackle behind his back didn't endear him to the other man any more than the sudden impact of the shorter body against his back when Spencer stumbled again. “Do you mind!?” He growled, shoving at a plaid clad shoulder with his own 100% imported Italian wool (so not a replaceable jacket – the one thing Victoria had bought for him that he'd refused to cremate or shoot).

 

“You'd think they'd have picked up a bit before inviting guests.” Whined Spencer while Lassiter proceeded to kick at the small, round porthole on the starboard bulkhead.

 

“Uh, dude, we're already sinking – don't you think it's a bad idea to make it _easier_ for the water to get in?”

 

“Not if I plug it with your head afterwards...” Another shin-jarring kick, but the glass refused to budge. Not even a crack. And his footing was less than perfect – that last impact had nearly dumped him and as cold as the water was around his shins, he wasn't in the mood to bathe in it.

 

“Swirly threats? Really? Man, it's like nineteen eighty-two all over again...”

 

Lassiter took a breather while leaning to peer out the tiny window. “Huh?”

 

“Nothing, nevermind. So – um... see anything? Maybe, I don't know, a bevvy of helpful mermaids? Maybe one that has dreams to someday be where the people are, fall in love, escape her overbearing father...”

 

“Spencer, what the hell are you talking about?” Water sloshed around his knees as he faced the other man while trying to reach the window latch with his fingers. Damn, still not happening no matter how much he stretched. He thought of attempting, again, to have Spencer try to untie him but being goosed, unintentional or not, had soured him to that recourse. Besides which his own attempt at Spencer's knots had been equally as fruitless.

 

“I'm talking about the fact that unless you see backup out there, that you insist you called, we've got about...” Spencer closed his eyes, lips moving silently, “twenty minutes before this boat goes down.”

 

Lassiter looked down at the small wavelets lapping slowly up his thighs. “I'd say closer to ten minutes.”

 

Not a pleasant realization, but at least it shut Spencer up for the moment. Still twisting and tugging at his wrists, Lassiter waded back towards the hatch. No less sealed than when he'd left it, but he still looked it over once more – hoping that maybe...

 

A puff of warm air exhaled against the back of his neck.

 

“WOULD YOU GET OFF ME!” Spinning, he shoved at Spencer, who'd crept up behind him and practically laid his chin on his shoulder.

 

The brush off must have been harder than he'd planned because the younger man yelped once before falling backwards into the water, his head and shoulders disappearing behind the splash.

 

“Great.” Lassiter was contemplating how he could drag Spencer back to the surface when brown hair reappeared – followed by his face – sputtering and spitting. Well that took care of that problem.

 

“Really!?” Voice slightly cracking, Shawn wriggled and floundered – trying to get his feet beneath him - only to fall back once more when the boat sharply listed to starboard, the porthole now buried in the ocean.

 

“Woa- _KUUMPH_!!” The sound of Spencer's yell was suddenly muffled as Lassiter also lost his footing, cold water closing over his scalp.

 

Kicking and sliding as the deck continued to steepen, Lassiter managed to gain the surface – his feet finally locating something to steady against. Not that this gain would last long – his slick bottomed loafers were not designed for underwater conditions.

 

In seconds the water level had surged from waist to shoulders – the angle of the boat changing the dynamics of the space, the rapid tilt turning the rear bulkhead into the new floor, and adding fifteen feet of depth to the rising water. The only thing that had saved Lassiter from going under was the tiny foothold he'd found – keeping him near the new ceiling.

 

His pivoted his head, scanning the mottled darkness. “Spencer!”

 

He spit the water away from his lips, squinting as the darkness increased. “Spen- _phwh_... Spencer!”

 

“ _GUHH-PHUUH- pthh!!_ ” Spencer shot up besides him, spitting a mouthful of water into his face.

 

“Dammit!” Shaking his head – cause yeah, it wasn't like he wasn't already soaked, Lassiter frowned as Spencer immediately sank again.

 

He was leaning forward, baffled, when once more the younger man bobbed above the water – gasping and spitting. “Nuhh... th-think you can share – _pluhhh – mmmph_ – share your...” water covered his face to his eyebrows before retreating with a hard surge and harder gasp, “your mountain, your highness!?”

 

Struggling and kicking, Spencer still sank again while Lassiter was processing the jumbled speech.

 

Spencer didn't have a foothold.

 

Spencer had his hands tied behind his back too.

 

Spencer was drowning.

 

“Damn...” Head dunking down – wondering how the hell he was supposed to do anything with his own wrists otherwise engaged, Lassiter almost lost an eye when Spencer reappeared again – shooting upwards like a rocket. What the hell was...

 

And then he figured it out. Spencer was letting himself sink to the bottom – where he braced his feet against the bulkhead – and then shoved upward, sucking in as much air as possible before sinking once more.

 

Worse, though, as the footing grew less and less sure beneath him, was the wrenching knowledge that there was nothing Lassiter could do to help him.

 

Another splash and gulp, water rocking around them both. “Lassie!!” And Spencer went down.

 

Swearing, rising water finally stealing the object from beneath his feet, Lassiter – too – felt the wavelets rush over his scalp.

 

Metallic tings and odd clicks – almost pitched high enough to hurt – and the sensation of a form kicking wildly beside him. Then an eighty dollar sneaker impacted near his groin – close enough to still ache. Definitely close enough to rob his lungs of his hastily deposited investment. Flood of bubbles carrying away his oxygen, Lassiter kicked hard and followed them up – horrified to find only a few inches of space between his lips and the sinking bulkhead.

 

“GUH-MMM-HUH-LASS...LASSIE...” He turned but Spencer was already gone. Too dark to see anything now, too late to do anything, he also sank – holding desperately to those few breaths even as his body was bruised once more by the weakening battle taking place beside him.

 

And then he almost exhaled in a shout anyhow when something sharp gouged the back of his thigh. Wait...

 

He had to force himself to stop moving so he could sink – knowing there was only one chance at this.

 

His chest hitched even before he felt the stab against his hip. There was no time, but there was also no choice. Panicked, he shifted to the side and ignored the burn both at his wrists and in his throat – jerking his arms up and down across the sharp edge behind him.

 

His teeth dug into his lip. His wrists slipped and slid – flesh receiving more injury than the ropes wrapped around it.

 

Then, seconds before he was forced up again, the ropes snapped apart.

 

All four limbs working, Lassiter propelled himself upward, exhaling on reflex and sucking in just as he broke water.

 

All that remained was a pocket – but it was a pocket full of breathable air so he wasn't complaining. Lungs demanding he remain there while they pumped hard, a greater urgency restricted him to three gasps before he dove again.

 

The first thing he found, of all things, was the pointed edge that had freed him. Even in the dark, now that he felt it properly, he ascertained it to be the broken edge of a stoneware vase – one of the sculptural elements the gun runners had been using to transport their merchandise before the whole thing had gone south and they'd decided to sink both the shipment, as well as a cop and a fake psychic, to the bottom of the ocean. Spectacular. Why couldn't he have found this before??

 

Leaving the vase behind, Lassiter reached forward with his hands, sweeping them back and forth. One tiny room partially filled with boxes, weapons, and water and somehow he couldn't... there! Cloth twisted in his fingers, the shape of an arm beneath the fabric.

 

Kicking upwards, dragging his catch behind him, he managed the surface a second time in under a minute. One hand snaking beneath Spencer's jaw, he managed to get the man above water.

 

“Spencer!”

 

No gasp, no sarcasm. Spencer wasn't breathing.

 

And the pocket was growing smaller.

 

Resuscitation was a luxury, escaping a necessity. The boat had portholes on both sides, and right now, only one of them was even remotely an option.

 

Floating garbage and underwater hazards in his path, Lassiter finally made it to the port side – now almost the ceiling. Where before it was an impossible barrier, with hands free, Lassiter was able to wrench one-handed at the latches, working the rust stiffened threads from their beds until, one by one, they twisted loose. Then, grasping the edge of the window – water now encroaching on his eyes – he gave two hard tugs and popped it open.

 

He pushed Spencer out first – leaving gentleness far far behind as he wrenched and shoved – finally getting the man free of the boat to drift like a waterlogged buoy. One hand still clutching a pant leg, Lassiter made to follow. Barely enough room to squeeze through – for half a second his shoulders caught on the sides. Always something to be proud of before, now it seemed good genetics were about to kill him. A passing thought that at least he was taking Spencer with him and he suddenly broke free.

 

Hardly any color above him at all, his last breath seemed years in the past. Exhaustion took over – his brain apparently latching on to the crazy notion that he'd actually escaped and could therefore cut off the adrenaline supply. Pure pissed stubbornness and a refusal to die because Spencer was an idiot got him the last twenty feet. The sensation of breaking water and sucking in that first shuddering sob of air equivalent to only one thing – and far more conductive to life regardless of what he'd thought his first time between the sheets with someone other than himself.

 

“There! Over there!”

 

Wind ripped at the words, but dammit that was O'Hara!! Lassiter's head pivoted back and forth until he spotted the Coast Guard cutter bouncing on the waves and headed in his direction. No need to flag them down, he turned back to the more immediate need. Kicking aggressively, Lassiter managed to keep himself afloat long enough to deliver two quick breaths – noting the lack of response to the effort. One more glance up at the approaching boat and he breathed again. This time there was a twitch.

 

“Come on dammit...”

 

Two more breaths, and suddenly the man jerked, coughing and gagging up fluid. Maneuvering him to his side as much as possible, Lassiter kept Spencer's head above water until the boat made it to their position.

 

It took under a minute to get the two men on board and hustled into the cabin – thankfully heated because Spencer was shivering violently by that time. Blankets appeared along with hot coffee, which Lassiter grabbed so fast he nearly took his partner's fingers. Meanwhile, Spencer was made to wear an oxygen mask – which he pushed and fussed with while attempting to drink his own hot beverage with shaking hands.

 

“Vennes and his men left in a silver speedboat after sticking us in the hold...”

 

“I know.  We got them Carlton.”

 

“You... really?”

 

O'Hara nodded while draping another blanket over his now quaking shoulders. The boat made a wide turn before heading back towards the harbor. Across from him, one of the Coast Guard was checking Spencer's pupils and other vitals. The young man barely moved as a light was shined in his eyes.

 

“We picked them up about three miles from here. One of the guys was willing to deal and gave up your position.” His partner glanced towards Spencer, swallowing. “I... I thought...”

 

Lassiter closed his eyes and swallowed another gulp of caffeine. “You did good, O'Hara.”

 

Breathing out his nose, he felt the drag pulling steadily against his body. Once glance at Spencer showed the younger man was feeling much the same way – his eyes blinking while he stared glassy-eyed towards the water. The medical check over, the Coast Guard medic headed his way, only to be waved off with a muttered “I'm fine.”

 

The boat thudded and rocked as it bit through the waves, jarring hard enough that Lassiter's teeth clicked together. Thankfully he'd downed his coffee already or he'd most likely be wearing it by now.

 

Beside him, O'Hara shifted. Her hands plucked and twisted at the edge of one of the blankets tucked around him. Though her attention was mostly on him, it wasn't hard to miss the small glances she kept sending across the cabin towards the bedraggled and slumping third member of their party. One didn't need to be a... his stomach twisted... a _psychic_.

 

“I don't need a babysitter, O'Hara.”

 

She jumped – obviously thinking he'd fallen asleep. “Huh?”

 

_Don't make me say it, this is painful enough..._

 

“ _I_ ,” he said, emphasizing slowly, “don't need a babysitter.”

 

Thank God she was a detective because her eyes suddenly widened. He grunted, satisfied as she stood and carefully picked her way across the deck to sit beside the younger man who was still staring out at the water. Spencer looked up as she took his wrist. A second passed, a then a tiny smile formed, lopsided and meek.

 

“Don't say I never did anything for you.” Lassiter muttered as he closed his eyes. And if God Himself asked he'd deny to his dying breath that moment of charity towards the younger man.

 

Tuning out the murmur of flirt-laden BS and the resulting giggle, Lassiter sank his head down to his arms folded across the table.

 

And seconds later he was asleep – carried off by the rocking of the boat and the warmth surrounding him.


End file.
